Resist The Dark
by StTudnoBright
Summary: Lucan has dedicated his life & loyalty to Bane and the League of Shadows after a set of tragic events tore his beloved sister away. 8 years later they are reunited before his campaign on Gotham. Now he's protecting her from unwanted attention and her former captor who lurks in Gotham's shadows. All the while coping with Bane's increasing interest in her. (If Poor Summary, Sorry).
1. Chapter 1

**I really don't know how often I've re-edited this chapter but this is my first Fanfic so please be nice, though I welcome constructive criticism =D **

**Disclaimer: For future reference I own nothing DC related only my obvious OC's and various sub plots**

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"_Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn" – _**Mahatma Gandhi**

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**Chapter 1: Contemplation of Death **

Pain.

All she felt was pain. Spreading through limb, joint and every cell of her body right down to her core; the source of all her agony. Was she screaming? Yelling even?

'_I must be,_ _there's no way anyone can keep quiet through this!'_

Despite the coherency of her thoughts, she was deaf and blind to the world. A shutdown of her senses, which had kept her attuned throughout her life were gone.

She couldn't be dead. Not yet anyways because she still felt the pain caused by her _monster._ Certainly, she must be at leastdying. She'd seen the ruin of her body and had heard the tell-tale sign of approaching authorities before she had slipped into this painful limbo.

Oh, how she hoped she would die. Over what had to be at least four years, she had become a frequent visitor to various hospitals whilst adorned with injuries that would kill anybody… but against all the odds she always survived.

She never would have believed until four years that her body could be so resilient, it just refused to die and every, single time she healed, the very _'helpful'_ officials would then deliver her back to her _monster_ like she was the morning paper.

'_Just business'_ they had told her, by way of explanation. She had tried many times, to find any look of shame or regret on their faces… in their eyes… but there'd been none as they'd watched her get dragged down the hole, time and time again. Death would be a welcome gift compared to being kept alive as _his_ property.

Due to many close calls with the afterlife, she had tried to remember on more than one occasion whilst stagnating in her cell of all the many theories and beliefs she had heard on what it felt like to die. The one she'd lobbied toward most was the idea that dying was that after the shock had worn off, a feeling of warmth would come over you, very similar to slipping into a warm bath. She hoped that one was true. But she knew by now that such things were out of her control. If fate determined that she would die, then she would die. But she knew in her gut the unholy truth that if she lived once again, it meant that her life was not meant to be over just yet and that she had to prepare once again to be pulled bodily into the darkness once more.

She paused her thoughts when she realised she could no longer feel pain in one of her arms, which one she was clueless to as she had almost lost her sense of bodily awareness, except for the enduring pain. After what had felt like a millennia in purgatory, she was beginning to feel a warmth spread down to where she assumed her hand was and up towards her shoulder should be.

'_This has to be it.'_ She thought as she fully welcomed the reality of her oncoming demise.

She felt the warmth reach her shoulder and like a flash flood pool into her chest and down into her abdomen with rapid speed. As it spread it washed away the pain, taking it away, giving her blessed relief and comfort as she felt her body succumb.

After all the previous close calls, her body finally decided to obey her will.

The dissipating pain made it so much easier to think as well, so in a moment of unconscious lucidity she decided to think of her loved ones since the whole '_life flashing before your eyes'_ scenario wasn't happening. For the best really, because she certainly didn't want to watch re-runs of the past four years.

Thoughts of her family and friends immediately jumped to the forefront of her consciousness, all of whom were far, far away across the Atlantic. She wished she had had the chance to talk to them one last time; to see them, touch them and tell them she was sorry and that she loved them. But she couldn't, she hadn't seen them or spoken with them for over four years.

She couldn't help but what wonder what had changed in those years. How her parents were coping? Were her only remaining Grandmother and Grandfather still alive? Did she have any new cousins? Did she even have a niece or nephew?

With that question her thoughts turned to her younger brother. Stilled referred to as _'the_ _baby'_ by both her and her mother despite him being only four years her junior. She and her brother had always had a close bond. They had played as children and further on in life when they had developed different interests they remained close friends. She always thought her brother had been slightly eccentric but she had always loved that part of him and she had found herself missing him more so than her parents at times. He had only recently turned sixteen when she was taken, which meant he had to be at least twenty or twenty-one now.

Against her will she felt the onslaught of her memories begin to distress her as she recalled how her captor regularly boasted that her brother had been tortured and killed. She in response had proudly declared that unless she saw his body, he would always be a in her words: '_A lying bastard!'_

Quickly moving on from her darker thoughts, lest she remember how he always responded to her defiant retorts, she began to pray that her family and friends grief would be somewhat soothed when her demise was confirmed, by the relief that she was finally free of _him_, once and for all. She sincerely hoped it did because it sure as hell was reassuring her right now as she felt herself rapidly descend into what she interpreted as death's grip.

As she started to feel her mind start to slip, her thoughts couldn't help but turn to _him_. About how much she used to hate him, a detestation gradually burning and roiling inside her growing into a wrath that would fester for decades. She remembered how her heart would wretch and tear itself apart as she heard the cries, the screams and the begging from the other poor souls from her cell. How her stomach would retch as the putrid and clotting stench of rotting flesh, congealed blood and week's old sweat and defecation would waft through the dank and dimly lit corridors. As she had shivered continually in the dank corner of her cell, she had surprised herself in recent months to discover that she no longer was angry at him but instead felt only pity.

And now in her final moments she tried to predict whether she would have ever forgiven him had she lived longer. In truth she didn't know, the wounds were still fresh and it wasn't just her and her own family that had suffered but countless others that had come before and those that would unfortunately follow. She prayed that the other unfortunate prisoners would be found and kept safe but even she felt in her heart that as long as _he_ lived _he _would never allow any of them to get away alive.

The warmth had now reached every niche in her body but was starting to cool leaving her feeling cold followed by a numbing sensation that made all warmth evaporate into the ether. The time had finally come. She was close. She no longer felt the stutter in her chest that belonged to her struggling heart and no pain existed for her now as she felt her body slowly...

slowly...

...slip away.

* * *

An unexpected jolt of pain ripped through her chest, her back arching and her limbs starting to uncontrollably shake.

Her eyes snapped open only to squint at the bright UV light blinding her to her surroundings. She quickly realised that she was lying down and there were people around her.

The light dimmed and her eyes adjusted to discover she was encircled by a team of bloodied, very tired looking surgeons, all peering down at her. All of them seemed to bear expressions of incredulity coupled with relief going by the tear tracks on their face masks. A warped voice interrupted the silence.

"Welcome back, Miss Owens. You've given us plenty of scares"

They had saved her.

They had saved her life _again_, so she can return to the dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition. Her body hadn't given up and instead chose to endure... with the help of her surrounding surgeons of course. She was willing to bet anything that fate was laughing at her right now.

Though she had to give credit to the doctors and surgeons of this hospital, they were really good, not to mention dedicated, but couldn't they have just given up this one time.

Assuming that the distorted voice had come from the head surgeon but since their faces were covered and she was still disoriented, she wasn't sure where the voice had come from.

She tried sitting up, opening her mouth to speak. But before she could try, the head surgeon spotted the movement instantly, shooting out her hand to stop her patient from straining herself so early. She was firm but as gentle as she could possibly be as she pushed the young woman back onto the operating table.

"The attack let alone the operation will have taken a lot out of you. Your heart stopped eight times and restarted by itself after we'd given up on the defibrillator." She paused for breath, clearly shattered. "We've been operating on you for over thirty hours to save your life. Someone, up there must certainly like you. I know you may have a lot of things to say but you really need to rest Miss Owens."

A lot of things to say? She could definitely say many things, some good, most of them bad. Maybe to describe her awe for their perseverance and skill but also her frustration and despair because she knew what would happen once again… after she'd healed. In truth, all in all, there were only two words which she wished to scream to the world.

And she do believed they rhymed with _**Clucking Bell!**_

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"_The phoenix must burn to emerge." _– **Janet Fitch,** _White Oleander_

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**Sorry no Bane in this chapter but he will be in the next one guaranteed**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, apart from the stuff that is obviously not DC's or Chris Nolan's.**

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"_Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form" _- **Rumi**

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**Chapter 2: African Aftermath**

**4 years later, Mali, Africa**

Nights in the African bush were exceptional.

Endless expanse of clear sky painted with the galaxy's cosmos. A stupendous piece of natural artwork so bright, that all artificial light paled to its intense beauty. But this dancing star-studded performance was coming to an end. The black backdrop slowly fading into a soothing midnight blue as the nearest approaching star made its entrance.

As dawn approached, the sky began to shift into vibrant reds, vivid oranges and hazy yellows, hailing the sun's arrival as it peered over the horizon. The solar rays spread out to touch the cold, dry earth banishing the lingering shadows in its wake. Reviving the fresh green vegetation that contrasted garishly against the burnt orange sand that ascended into rocky outcrops of mountains that lay stranded on the margins of the Sahara desert.

This had been a daily sight for the young mercenary, who had for the past three weeks been on watch from the early hours till dawn. Chosen to watch out for possible hostile intruders but to keep a keen eye on new recruits still classified as undisciplined by his leader, Bane. Not that the young man minded, he was somewhat flattered that more experienced men deemed him mature and competent enough to oversee and lead others in the absence of their leader or his first lieutenant; Barsad.

A small vibration caught his attention whilst he sat in a camouflaged perch with his sniper rifle. He spared a quick glance at his wrist where his watch was silently pulsating, indicating the end of his shift, but he didn't move himself or his rifle an inch until he heard his replacement arrive. So for now, he admired the newly lit scenery while simultaneously looking for danger.

'_Who said that men can't multitask?'_ he thought smugly, letting the sliver of arrogance suppressed deep within him to come forth for a split second.

The country was beautiful he had to admit, the beauty being in its remoteness and aridity despite the sprinkling of life in the form of widely dispersed patches of forest. He'd already seen many other marvellous places, especially since his current _job_ required vast amounts of travel. In his mind though, nothing would beat the rough mountains bordering the blue grey sea of his home. He hadn't seen the country of his birth since he was sixteen, yet now and then he still felt the nauseating pang in his heart that was the tell-tale sign of homesickness, but he was always quick to push it away. There was no room for any sort of emotional weakness in the League of Shadows.

In an effort to turn his mind from unnecessary and troubling thoughts the mercenary scoped the terrain again, counting off the things he had yet to do once he was relieved. So far he'd determined that once he was back in his allotted tent he would disassemble his rifle, secure it, then join the rest of the army for breakfast before retiring to his tent for a nap. After his siesta, his afternoon was a little unplanned. Since the coup they'd pulled off here was a success, Bane was already having them prepare for the next step. They were way ahead of schedule but their transportation would not arrive for a while, so not many orders beyond the basic needed to be given. Regardless, he would still report to his leader for any instructions, but if there were none he hoped he could fit in at least six hours of training after he'd cleaned and checked his weaponry.

Yet with his entire schedule for the day half planned out, he couldn't shake the gut feeling that he was forgetting something and that was serious. If he'd neglected to remember an order it could cost him his life, no matter how competent a soldier.

His silent panic was interrupted, when he heard rustling from the foliage behind him. He gently gripped his handgun on his hip, only to relax at the sight of Barsad who army crawled through the undergrowth toward him.

"Another good perch, Lucan." complimented Barsad as he became level with the young man.

Lucan nodded his head in gratitude, before steadily folding his rifle's bipod so he could slip away. Barsad set his own weapon up on his stand before whispering.

"Bane says that he'll have no more orders for you until this evening at 21:00 hours."

Lucan nodded before crawling away.

* * *

By late morning Lucan was peering sleepily up at the ceiling of his tent from his bunk trying in vain to drift off. Normally after he'd had a full satisfying meal, he was off to sleep without any problems. After near two hours of being eluded by sleep, he'd deduced that his restlessness was stemming from the fact that he still couldn't help feeling that he'd forgotten something, something important.

Something very, _very_ important.

Turning on his side huffing in frustration, he reached for his watch to check how much time he had left to sleep. Learning there was at least six and half hours left to rest, he moved to put the watch down when he caught sight of the date.

**29****th**** January 2011 **

He'd forgotten. He had forgotten today.

How could he have done?! This day of all days!

Shame, grief and despair filled his chest leaving him hollow except for his heaving heart pounding so hard it was if it was about to tear itself out of his rib cage. The flood of memories from eight years ago flooded his brain as he remembered why he privately grieved on this day.

It was four years ago to the day that his sister had died. His beautiful, strange sister, who had been one of the closest friends he'd ever had. She had been taken from him… from their family by her murderer.

A rich sadistic psychopath. A pure, cold-blooded twisted monster.

A monster that had the power to get away with it, not just with his sister but with other women in the past and many more since then and time and time again the higher authorities ignored it all.

Salt liquid overflowed from his tear ducts as he recalled that her birthday had been last week as well. She would have been twenty – seven. More misery filled him as he realised he had forgotten his own sister's birthday, whilst fighting in the coup.

Setting the watch down, he reached for his private bag, taking out a photograph of his sister before she was kidnapped. He felt the stinging tears in his eyes spill down his stubbled cheek while the throbbing pain in his chest threatened to send him into uncontrollable sobs. Fearing an audience to his outburst, he quickly checked his tent's entrance clasps before turning his back to the doorway, trying in vain to bring himself under control. He struggled for at least two hours before finally slipping into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

Standing proudly at the entrance of one of the caves, Bane surveyed his army's camp. An army composed of men loyal to him, dedicated to any cause he ordered they follow.

Examining the campsite, Bane was pleased at the choice.

It was a strategic rocky outcrop the size of a small mountain, riddled with ancient caves and tunnels. There was enough vegetation present to provide decent cover for sentries. A tributary to supply clean water with a remote town nearby for their supplies. The location had been invaluable during the coup he had arranged, but now it was nearly time to leave. Most of the equipment had been packed and the majority of his men had moved to their next destination for the next step of the plan. In truth there was very little left to do. His men had done their jobs promptly, with expert precision and now they were ahead of schedule. He expected nothing less from them but the best.

Bane couldn't help but feel the anticipation ignite deep in his stomach. '_It won't be long now' _he thought as he sauntered down the stone steps into the camp.

Soon he'd be in Gotham to execute a plan, eight years in the making. Finally they'd fulfil Ra's Al Ghul's destiny. It heartened him to know that he'd soon see Talia again before Gotham becomes nothing but ash, a blip in human history. The work of the League of Shadow's completed once and for all.

Burning grey eyes perused the camp before falling on one of three sparring rings in the training area. Within one ring he spotted a familiar figure; Lucan Owens, in the middle of a fight. Watching Bane was pleased at the young man's progress from his training.

Despite his youth, Lucan was powerful for one so young. Disciplined. Coupled with a maturity young men nowadays sorely lacked.

From the start, Lucan unquestionably gave his respect and loyalty to Bane. Always displaying genuine eagerness and tenacity to learn so as to improve, in order to better serve his leader. A trait that impressed both Bane and Barsad and after the first few years Lucan had earned both Bane's and Barsad's hard earned trust. He had also provided the army with rare but much needed skills, such as creativity and improvisation that had proved invaluable on many projects; only using it of course after seeking Bane's permission.

Making his way toward the fights, Bane reminisced to when he had first met his youngest recruit, almost eight years ago now. Lucan had been a young sixteen year old runaway, who'd caught Bane's attention in the underworld sparring rings whilst in Ukraine. These events sometimes offered opportunities to identify possible recruits.

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_**30**__**th**__** September 2004, Odessa, Ukraine**_

_It had been in the midst of the early hours of morning, deep within the underbelly of Odessa at least 50 metres below sea level. There the centuries old catacombs met the concrete foundations of the modern city. The rough, hazy orange of the sandstone moulding into the decaying soiled grey of the concrete. The concrete spread out to form a large room, which some of the frequent criminal visitors believed to have been an Old Soviet nuclear bunker. _

_The bunker contained two stories both littered with rotting furniture and moulding illegible paper, which were largely ignored, but the main attraction of this forsaken remnant of the cold war lay within its centre. It was octagonal opening, through which you could peer down to the first floor. Outlined by a continuous wall with cuboid pillar at each corner turned the vertical entrance into passable observing gallery for its new purpose. Since it's rediscovery by the criminal sects that ran Odessa, the bunker had hereby been converted into select place for criminals to convene for business or for the most favourite activity; competitive bare knuckle fighting. To accommodate these fights, someone had placed wire mesh within the inside of the ground floors corner pillars creating a makeshift fighting cage with only one section containing a passable rusted metal door to make it possible for one to enter and exit. It was then finished with an old fishing net stretched above to prevent objects being thrown into the fights from gambling observers watching from the balcony. _

_It was standing on that very balcony overlooking the ring, that Barsad and Bane had meticulously watched each combatant as they fought. Dismissing and judging different fighters based on fighting skill and perceived character. Bane had scorned everyone mainly due to their pompous personalities. Arrogance had no place with him, if you were found openly displaying it amongst his ranks you would be severely punished or worse, terminated and easily replaced. _

_Just as he was about to voice the order for he and his men to leave, the manager caught the last drops of his attention, as he announced the arrival of the last fighter who'd been champion for three weeks running. Bored and indifferent at this point, Bane pictured this so-called champion. He would most likely be tall for the average male with a large physique from hours of training which while the dedication was admirable, but utterly wasted on the man's ego. Bane was half tempted to go into the ring after this so-called champion had finished and properly instruct him in true combat, before ending his pathetic life. _

_Nothing had prepared him for when he was greeted with the sight of a young boy. This child had to have been fifteen or sixteen by Bane's reckoning and at least between 5'7" to 5'8" in height. His golden brown hair had been cut short, just over an inch of bristle. His shirtless torso bearing signs of malnutrition but it still held the unmistakable sign of muscle build up, padding his steadily broadening shoulders. He couldn't have come from a poor background as he still had a childlike roundness to his face which betrayed his youth and an obvious well fed upbringing. Nevertheless what made Bane pause in consideration was the boy's demeanour as he faced his opponent, who outmatched him in weight, height and age. He saw no fear on his face and from what he could see of his eyes from the height of his seat. Bane only observed determination and resolve. It was abnormally mature behaviour for a teenager especially from this part of the world. _

_A loud foghorn announced the start of the match and the rules were simple…and brutal. _

_The fight only ended when one had surrendered, been knocked out or declared dead. Bane watched with renewed interest as the boy raised his guard and scrutinized his challenger with calculation a sheer contrast to the primal aggression his opponent shamelessly and stupidly showed. The challenger charged believing the boy would balk, emitting unnatural hissing and spitting noises from his mouth whilst panting heavily as if the sound came from some amalgam of raging bull and a furious venomous snake. His charge quickly turned into pivotal mistake as the youngster neatly dodged and delivered hard precise blows to his abdomen. The lad's adversary fell on one knee from the unexpected efficient punches. Bane noted that the child was deceptively stronger than he looked. The competitor garbled in a high pitch and barely intelligible Russian, spitting out globules of saliva as he made to stand once again with the visible intention of murder in his glare. Unfortunately for him, he never got the chance to act on his fury, as the boy quickly took advantage delivering a hard round kick to his contender's head making it crack hard against the concrete floor, which was decorated with the dried and fresh blood of previous fights. The rival was down and out and the teenager named champion. _

_Bane watched, impressed, as the boy took his prize without any personal celebration before making a brisk exit, ignoring the foreign cheers for his victory or the congratulatory pats on his young back from victorious gamblers. Bane was intrigued, though Barsad was concerned with his youth, considering it a possible disadvantage to them. The only way to be sure however, required a face to face with the boy, so Bane ordered his men to tail the teenager, report his activities and ultimately where his lodgings were._

_Later that night, his men recounted that the boy had used his reward to buy key essentials and afterwards had gone to an old abandoned warehouse on the most remote side of the docks, which he had clearly made his home. _

_His men slipped silently inside the dilapidated warehouse and watched as the boy shared his supplies and clothing with two other's; both boys. The other minors appeared to be on friendly terms with their quarry, although they were slightly younger and definitely more malnourished. Bane gave the final order to bring all three boys and their effects to him, without fuss. Putting Barsad in charge of the extraction, he executed it to the letter. The trio were firmly restrained and their belongings confiscated. They were placed in separate, windowless rooms for the night while he perused their possessions, to give him some insight into this potential recruit as well as the two others, who could become useful in time. _

_Normally, Bane would never even consider enlisting someone this young but he always prided himself on being an excellent judge of character and if his deductions were correct about the boy, then he could gain a valuable asset to his army. If not, it wasn't a situation that was difficult to rectify, he would just order their demise and have their bodies dumped in the Black Sea. _

_He had watched from an unseen vantage point, as the boys were hauled into his army's current base. He had taken the opportunity to look over the other two. They appeared to be at least a year younger than his target and obviously starving, but with proper feeding and training they could be force to be reckoned with, all depending of course on their mindset. _

_Assured that they were too incapacitated to escape, his men brought him their possessions. The first two he skimmed through, belonged to the other two boys. All they contained was a few coins, worn clothing, and scraps of food along with crumpled photos and strangely, both had frayed birth certificates and other official state documents. Further reading revealed both of them were from state run orphanages and that the young boys were in fact soon to be young men. Malnutrition had made them appear younger than they actually were. Quickly scanning through the rest before he was satisfied he finally turned to the property of the boy, who'd originally caught his attention._

_The boys' bag was a large most likely expensive waterproof rucksack plastered with various pockets and assorted zips. Bane opened each of the surface pockets and zips, careful not to miss anything that could provide valuable insight into this potential recruit. At first, he only pulled out various banal things such as clothing, food, matches, a lighter and water. It was only when he reached the bottom of the bag's main compartment, concealed under tightly packed clothes, did any major insight into the boys history and character reveal itself. At the bottom, were an assortment of diversely sized envelopes and folded up papers._

* * *

Back in the present, Bane broke his reverie, to find himself a couple of yards away from the training ring, within which the object of his recollections was easily dispatching yet another opponent. Observing his second lieutenant, Bane noticed something was off with Lucan.

Whenever Lucan fought whether in training or in live combat, he fought with a cold and tactical demeanour, taking in everything and giving away nothing; devoid of any ferocity or anger in his facial expressions or body language. But now looking at him fight, Bane could see his eyes baring the tiniest glint of rage, his jaw set hard, no doubt grinding his teeth and his entire body tensed with carefully contained wrath. If anyone else had been looking at him they would have missed these little tells, but Bane intimately knew the men he trusted. Watching as Lucan finished off his opponent; he'd already concluded that something significant had triggered this unusual and extremely rare bout of hidden rage.

Bane knew only specific little things would provoke such ferocity from within Lucan. He knew such anger would be triggered by atrocities such as rape and the like. Bane himself upheld the same value on that subject and strictly expected the same of his men. They were to be an army of men not barbaric animals but right now he could see the pain and grief behind the rage of his second lieutenant. It swiftly dawned on him, that there could be one possible reason to incite this amount of anger. Turning on his heel, Bane advanced towards his private tent kicking up the dusty soil in his wake. His men milled past him, respectfully bowing their heads as they went about their duties. Entering his temporary living space, he turned his head to the digital alarm on his work desk that displayed the time and date.

15:43pm, 29th January 2011.

'_Ah, as I suspected'_ Bane thought, clinically noting the date and source of his second lieutenant's anguish.

This was the day he had learnt of his sister's murder within the filthy bowls of Gotham. By one of the city's elite no less. Moving over to his desk, Bane lowered himself into his chair with unusual grace for a man of his bulk, before reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo pants, to pull out a single photograph. Gazing at the face on the slightly creased photo, Bane allowed his mind to again wander to when he'd first met the young man face to face.

* * *

_Pulling out the paperwork, Bane arranged them on his desk. In all there were two envelopes; the first one contained the basics of the boys' background; a passport and birth certificate. Both documents declared him as Lucan Gruffudd Owens. Born 27__th__ March 1988, in Wales, to Alys Siân Owens née Thomas and Marc Gwilym Owens._

_Bane felt slightly stunned at some of the names that he could hardly pronounce. The language sounded so foreign, even to him! So much so, that while he quickly did a search on the location, he briefly entertained the idea that the passport and certificate were fake. But low and behold, it turned out the words he had found hard to pronounce were of an old Celtic language that was still kept alive within the country. _

_Bane didn't care for feeling shock, in his eyes it indicated poor planning and pathetic foresight, it irked him that something as little as an unknown language could shock him. However it wasn't something that couldn't be righted and it served as a reminder that despite being a highly educated man, he still didn't know everything even if it was only a barely used language from a corner of Europe and that when occurrences like these arise it was best to learn from them. _

_Bane turned to the final envelope and the heaviest, where he found various photographs of the boy and of what were obviously his family. The first few were pretty generic and predictable; pictures of the boy with his father or some with his mother. Strangely both the boy's mother and father bore little resemblance to him, only a mere feature or two between them but despite that, in all of the photographs, the two adults looked at their son with pride and love. _

_As Bane quickly skimmed through them, he discovered that the images of the parents only made a fraction of the total photographs, the rest all shared a common theme; a girl. One image held both her and the boy; they both looked very similar in their youth leading Bane to immediately realise that they were siblings. Unlike their parents both brother and sister looked very alike. They both had the same face and eye shape, despite the boy's eye colour being vibrant amber and hers a deep emerald green. The siblings shared the same golden brown hair though hers fell down to her elbow in curls and waves. Both were smiling at the other, blatantly revealing their close bond. _

_Bane looked at the girl closely with more interest than what was considered normal for him when expressing attention to the opposite sex, with the exception of Talia. The girl hadn't been the stereotyped image that western society deemed the epitome of beauty but she __**was **__a beauty. Her loveliness reminded him of the photos he had seen of the classic actresses from 'The Golden Age of Hollywood' which he had come across while studying the western world, particularly with her round cheeks, soft features and very fair skin. The images of her varied in location but she was always smiling. Her smile was always the most prominent feature especially with her eyes lit up. Though there was one photograph that particularly caught his attention. _

_It had been taken outside amongst the woodland, probably in late spring or early summer going by the intense green of the surrounding foliage. The girl was centre frame; sitting down, resting her back against the trunk of a tree with her knees bent upward in front of her. The first most striking aspect of that photograph was that she was encircled by colourful woodland flowers most of them bluebells. The second was for unknown reasons, the one that captured his interest the most; the expression on her face. _

_It was clearly taken without her knowledge as she wasn't looking toward the camera or the photographer. Instead she was gazing far off in the distance with the most peaceful and contented smile on her face. Undoubtedly taken on a sunny day, going by the golden glow of sunlight that had illuminated her face brilliantly, it almost as if her personality had now become her appearance and… she was magnificently beautiful. For reasons hardly known even to him at the time or even in future, he was entranced by her and envious of the inner contentment and peace that she radiantly gave off as if everything in the world was in balance._

_Bane didn't know how long he had stared at that photograph but once he had broken himself out of his trance, he put everything back in the bag, except for that photo, which he tucked into the chest pocket of his leather jacket. _

_The following morning his men fed the prisoners before bringing them to him, ordering for the two other boys first, in order to leave the boy… Lucan last. Bane sat in his chair whilst the two were brought in and shoved to their knees. Their guards flanked them, weapons at the ready. Bane took the opportunity to analyse the two properly at close quarters. _

_When they had been brought in, Bane had noted that they were slightly taller than Lucan but a great deal skinnier. One appeared to be of Turkish background. Bane could see that that boy's steely grey eyes were warily observing him from beneath his bowed head. The other who had looked local was also adopting the same pose; deliberately showing deference while simultaneously keeping their eyes on him. Good behaviour in Bane's eyes, as they were showing him respect in their fear while remaining alert to his actions. Once deciding that the tense silence had gone on long enough, Bane spoke._

"_Hasad Koval. Andriy Kukharenko. Raise your heads, look at me." _

_His order was met with silence, with very little movement from the boys as they remained submissively knelt before him. Bane knew perfectly well that they spoke English as that was in the report given by his men before they were taken from the warehouse._

"_I advise that both you refrain from feigning ignorance with me by pretending to not understand" leaning forward in his chair its slow, quiet creaking somehow enunciating his following words. "It would be extremely unfortunate for you to decide such."_

_His low mechanical growl hit its mark as both boys raised their heads slowly; afraid that moving too quickly would incite an aggressive response from him, had they been wolves, Bane was sure the fur on their hackles would have been raised with their ears laying back flat._

_The one that appeared to be of Turkish background, Hasad; had near shoulder length shaggy black hair, and sharp steel coloured eyes. His skin would have been a healthy bronzed hue but lack of nutrition had reduced its colouring to a grey tinge and what would have been a youthful face was now thin and hollow. The other one, Andriy had unkempt and matted blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck and near black-brown eyes. Like Hasad beside him, Andriy was also thin from malnutrition but due to his pale skin, he looked eerily like a ghoul, than his companion. _

_Bane knew what he offered. It was the same proposal for every man under his command. He did not offer trivial goals such as wealth and fame that appealed to the weaker minded parasites. What he presented was far more meaningful as well as powerful; he offered purpose. The opportunity to actively maintain balance within their world. All he asked in return was complete obedience and unfailing loyalty to him, his Brotherhood and ultimately the League of Shadows. There would be no selfish hidden agenda's disguised as good intentions, there would be no deceit from him and Bane both expected and demanded that his men showed nothing but complete honesty to him in turn. _

_Bane didn't mince words but he did know how to speak a proposition in a way that made it appealing and inspiring, in summary he was a superb and flawless orator and that talent was impeccably used when he worded this alternative life to the two kneeling boys. Watching them, Bane saw how their postures began to steadily relax as he spoke; he noted their guarded expressions start to ever so slowly slip into disbelief and as Bane saw to his satisfaction, hope starting to spark within their sombre gaze. _

_That was all Bane needed to see to know that these boys were with him now. It would take a bit longer for the unquestionable loyalty to be achieved but Bane was confident that that would not be an issue. Bane finished by asking the two young men outright if they would follow him. _

'As if they had an actual choice,_' he mused. It should have been obvious to the boys had they not been too busy listening to him that there was only two choices and only one of them led to life but he concealed this as the boys quickly glanced at the other before turning back to him._

"_I accept… sir" responded Hasad in heavily accented and broken English, clearly trying to choose the right words while Andriy gave a deep nod to confirm that his decision matched his friends. _

_The corner of Bane's eyes crinkled as he smiled behind his mask, he signalled the guards to untie them. _

"_Roberts, Hussein." Both guards stood to attention, as Bane stood, his hands clasped behind his back and feet set firmly astride. "Take the new recruits to the mess. Once fed, take them to their new bunkers in the communal quarters. Tuition will begin once I've arranged a schedule and two individuals to guide them and inform Barsad to bring in the third boy. You're dismissed". _

_Both men bowed their heads and Bane smirked as Hasad and Andriy tried emulating them before following them out. _

_Bane paced steadily as he waited for Barsad to arrive with their last prisoner. A leisurely walk or in this case relaxed pacing, had always helped him focus when he was assessing how to get the information he wanted and currently he wanted to know whether the boy had what it took to survive this life and most importantly if he held a similar of the world to the one's held by the League. In the midst of planning his cross-examination his thoughts went to the photos… and then immediately to the girl._

_He abruptly stopped his unhurried walk and took out the photograph of said girl. He wondered what her name was and why most of the photos were of her. His intuition told him that for whatever reason, the boy's presence in this part of the world was intertwined with the current fate of the young woman. She would be without a doubt the boy's main pressure point and he fully intended to use it._

_Hearing the approach of two sets of footsteps, one distinctly belonging Barsad. Bane walked back to his workspace and sat back down in his chair, placing the photograph face down on the desk. Crossing his large muscular arms over his barrel chest, Bane waited for them to enter. The heavy steel door swung open to reveal a stone faced Barsad, who firmly nudged the muzzle of his rifle into the back of the boy, pushing him forward. Unlike the previous two, this boy didn't lower his head or his gaze but there was no arrogance or pride in his defiance, only a quiet acceptance. _

_It was in identifying this solemn acceptance that Bane realised this boy expected to die; he had obviously spent the night preparing for his fate whilst the others had cowered and panicked. _

'Intelligent, logical and promise of good perception. Very good_' thought Bane inwardly pleased by the boy's display of favourable traits. _

_Confident that the boy wouldn't try something idiotic, Bane gestured to Barsad to bring another chair. Placing the chair behind the boy, Barsad firmly placed his hand on his shoulder and pressed him down. The boy obeyed and adjusted his position to accommodate his trussed up hands behind his back. No longer wishing to delay, Bane addressed the young man. _

"_Lucan Owens. That __**is **__your name boy?" In response Bane saw Lucan turn his gaze from him to pointedly look at the wall at his back, undoubtedly spotting his rumpled backpack resting against it._

"_With all due respect, you know that's my name as you have my pack" As his indifferent stare snapped back to Bane._

"_Correct" answered the mechanical purr, amused by Lucan's forwardness. It hadn't been disrespectful otherwise his neck would have been snapped before he could have fully comprehended his mistake. "But I want to have the truth from you. As you see, I am intrigued to discover why a young man… from a good upbringing would find himself brawling with the scum of the underground." _

_His captive remained silent but Bane could see the inner war being waged behind his tawny eyes. He was obviously conflicted about whether or not to tell him, so Bane decided to give him a push in the proper direction, finally seeing a use for the photograph he had taken._

"_Perhaps if I send my men to the home of your parents or even to this young woman here" Bane held up the image of the girl in front of the boy's face, pleased to see his captive's body become perfectly still as he locked onto the image. "Maybe they'll be more co-operative."_

_Bane watched the boy carefully, curious to see that while he was still on edge, he could just detect flickers of relief in his eyes. But it was clear he felt threatened and Bane was satisfied at how his words provoked the boy to tense; he could practically hear the muscles in his body tautening. The boy… Lucan, finally raised his gaze from the photograph to meet his own and gave a surrendering nod. Bane placed the image back on the table and spoke._

"_Wise choice, now explain" _

_Lucan paused before he spoke, his voice stone cold but brimming with suppressed rage._

"_I'm here because some rich elitist bastard kidnapped my sister to be his fucking toy"_

_Raising his brows, Bane thought this inconsequential. He'd heard of many girls selling their bodies and a mockery of affection and love in exchange for money and favours._

'Strange, I would never have taken her for one of those women'_ he thought to himself, slightly confused by the slightest hardening in his stomach that strangely resembled disappointment. The very suggestion made Bane give an internal shake, dismissing the ridiculous notion. _

"_I'm sure your sister was well aware of his status and is living happily in some spacious penthouse or a secluded hideaway someplace. She'll come home when he's had enough of her"_ _Bane nonchalantly replied. Lucan's answer was strong. _

"_No. You don't know my sister. She would never runaway, she wouldn't cut herself from us and she most certainly has more self-respect for herself than to stoop to that!" he scoffed before softly continuing. "Christ she's never kissed a man let alone slept with one. When someone even showed the remotest bit of interest in her, she panicked and made excuses to get away. Forgive my outburst but I've had enough corrupted bureaucrats telling me lies"_

_Remaining silent, Bane observed the young man now panting slightly from the released anger of his outburst. The love and loyalty he had for his sister was apparent, but it did raise more questions, as it was obvious that the story that lead to his presence in Odessa was not so simple, so he inquired further._

"_Say that what you state is true, of your sister's disappearance. It raises more questions and still doesn't answer why you are here. Do so and I shall overlook your sudden outburst."_

_Taking a few deep breathes the boy managed to relax before leaning back into the chair. Now calm, he began his story._

"_Last summer, my sister was in a work placement on a Spanish vineyard. She was doing research for her dissertation for the following year, so she could graduate. During the last month of her placement, the vineyard owner came over from the States to visit. My sister must have somehow caught his eye despite never speaking to her. So when she returned home, she received a message inviting her to receive further work experience." _

_Lucan paused, as he relived the memory of that day. How his sister was reluctant and very uncomfortable about going to a place so riddled with crime and so was he to begin with but she was eventually convinced by everyone… even himself that as long as she took the proper precautions she'd be fine as the opportunity was too good to miss. For months now, his thoughts kept wandering back to that day. He wished with every fibre of his being that he could go back and scream at all of them to not let her go. _

"_She was very hesitant about going but with combined effort, everyone encouraged her to go to the owner's city base. She arrived. Spent no more than week before disappearing off the face of the planet. The local police merely labelled it as a runaway case but I knew they were either complete idiots or lying. My sister doesn't possess the desire… or the organisational skill to disappear but before she was abducted she was on the phone… talking to me."_

"_I had to listen to her trying to defend herself as they dragged her off. " Reigning in his anger and despair, he took a deep calming breath and moved on. "My parents didn't believe the police either, to the point where they tried to investigate themselves. But they must have gotten too close for that bastard's liking. He threatened them to leave and never come back because if they didn't…he would kill her…slowly, painfully… record every moment and make us watch. He added more incentive for their departure, by giving twenty-four hours to get home and make me disappear then he would send his thugs after me. My parents raced back and got me equipped with enough to survive before sending me off, they haven't seen or heard from me since."_

"_I've spent the better part of three months travelling through Europe. At first I stayed close to public places but eventually his men caught up. I escaped time and time again, so I disappeared within the 'underground' as you call it, making my way while staying out the way. Until I was taken here." He heaved a large sigh visibly relaxing from emotional exhaustion. "I admit that when you caught us, I thought that you were working for him; I couldn't see any reason for someone take an interest in me other than him. It could have been a revenge hit from men I've beaten but they don't wear military garb as far as I'm aware, but it was clear to me once you showed me the picture of my sister that you're not with him." _

_As he finished, Bane observed him sink lower in the chair as if his emotional turmoil was pulling him toward the ground. The boy's story was tragic and it told only too well of how those with money abuse the imaginary power they believe it gives. It represented everything he despised against Western civilisation. It also explained the relief in the boy's eyes when he'd shown him the image of the girl. He'd believed him to be in league with a rich, corrupt murderer in the midst of his abduction. Regardless of his disgust of being assumed to be aligned with such a man, the boy's logic was sound with the evidence given at the time. Despite his stor_y_ however, Bane still had to determine if he had the right attitude to be allowed into his ranks._

"_Certainly a troubling recent history you have boy. Tell me, do you know the name of the man that's caused you and your family so much pain?"_

"_How could I not" he sighed, "His name is Howard Atwell of Atwell Manufacturing and he's holed up with my sister in Gotham… that rotten excuse of a city." _

_Gotham. _

_The name of that city resonated within the room commanding its own silence as it registered with the two other occupants of the room. Both Bane and Barsad froze, sharing a knowing glance before bringing their attention back to their captive. _

'Gotham City,'_ thought Bane '_a fateful coincidence'_. Though Bane could feel a familiar cold hatred spread, at the name of the city that had recently taken his former master from this world. Ra's al Ghul may have detested Bane but it didn't stop the gratitude he felt towards the recently deceased Demons Head for rescuing him from the Pit. Teaching and moulding him to become the efficient and feared man he was today. But now it was time to test the boy's mindset. To be sure that Bane's judgement of him had been correct._

"_What is it that you want, Lucan Owens?"_

_Lucan's brow furrowed in confusion as he if he wasn't quite sure what he was hearing._

"_Sorry?" he had obviously heard Bane clearly, as there was disbelief as well as bewilderment in his tone._

"_I do not care for repeating myself, boy." The warning was clear. _

_Bane watched as the boy paused, considering his question. He scrutinized him as the boy's eyes moved heavenward. After what seemed like an age but in reality was only a minute or two the boy's head sank forward as he drew in a deep breath before speaking with titanium steel resolve._

"_I want retribution. I want him to realize his error and make him feel the pain he inflicted not only on my sister but on the other unfortunate women he's killed. I want those in power to realise that their wealth is not a true authority or adequate protection from rightful justice. I want those that are corrupted and all symbols built on the foundations of the fraudulent to burn to the ground. And if there is any way to rescue my sister I'd devote the rest of my life to save her…and if… if I fail …then I'll make sure her death will not go unpunished even if my death is required to achieve it. I will willingly die knowing it won't be for naught. That, is what I want."_

_Bane rose from his seat and gradually approached the boy before bending down at eye level. Placing his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder, the boy raised his head to look at him. Bane felt proud satisfaction at his choice of recruit, this boy already had great potential along with drive and with further training he could become great. His purpose that he had decided for himself was so similar to what his Brotherhood strived for; it seemed that fate favoured him this night. Though while the events that lead to the boy's self revelation were indeed tragic it had lead to the boy's enlightenment to a world truth. The girl's face flashed briefly through his thoughts, as he once again became curious about her name._

"_What is your sister's name?" his mask softly hissed._

"_Rhiannon" he answered his voice soft and tender as he spoke her name, his love for his sister evident._

"_Despair no longer. We will bring true reckoning to the corrupt. And then…Brother they will burn to ashes."_

* * *

It had been nearly eight years since that night. The short, lean boy had grown. His young shoulders were now broad with strong muscle which now covered his now six foot four inch frame and the childish roundness in his face had melted away to reveal severe and handsome features. His smooth jaw surrendering to a man's beard, all traces of the boy lost with only his strange gold eyes remaining no longer soft honey in hue but now a near constant cold hard metallic glare matching the metal that shares its colour.

Bane himself had taken the young man under his wing and trained him diligently. The boy had proved to be an excellent student. He was quick, cunning and very intelligent. Bane had discovered early that not only was the boy an avid military historian before he left home but already had had a fascination with weapons allowing him to recognise a weapon's designation on sight as well as their brief history and track record in the field. Even now it was rare to find a weapon he didn't recognise. The boy had proven worthy to not only be a member of his army but loyal enough to be a member of his inner circle as his second lieutenant.

He had proved his loyalty through thick and thin, obeying Bane's orders, even through what had to be Lucan's lowest point; the news of his sister's murder. Obviously guilt ridden at his failure to save his sister in time, he gradually pulled through it. Bane was certain that that was the day that whatever was left of the boy, had died with his sister and he had emerged from his mourning a full grown man, in every sense.

Hasad and Andriy had proven themselves also and were now an active part of the army. Hasad as a talented mechanic, while Andriy had an aptitude for cooking. It was now their jobs to keep their equipment functional and to keep their army fed with the appropriate foods.

Tearing his eyes away from the photograph, he summoned one of his guards outside the tent. He instructed that Lucan be brought to him and told the guard his location. With him gone, Bane looked back again at the girl's…no, Rhiannon's image. He had allowed Lucan this day to grieve for the past four years as he acknowledged that he needed to expel his grief and it was preferable that happened while they were not in the middle of a mission. Nonetheless he needed to make sure that his second lieutenant was not too emotionally compromised to carry out their purpose, normally he wouldn't have been too concerned, but with the day of Gotham's Reckoning drawing ever closer. Lucan needed to prove to him that it won't compromise their goal.

Even so, Bane couldn't help but feel frustrated whenever this day came. It had taken him a while to figure out why, at first he thought it was irritation due to Lucan's grief but he realised that for reasons unknown to him, he had been annoyed that he'd never have the chance to meet her. Never have the chance to know her. To know how she achieved such peace of mind effortlessly at such a young age.

This self-realisation had baffled him for four years.

He didn't know the girl, he barely knew anything about her apart from a few basic facts that her brother had slipped over the years and from his own deductions from a single photograph. A photograph he had kept… omitting to return it to its previous owner. It was rather crumpled and dog-eared from seven and half years in his pocket but it didn't diminish the vibrancy of it in his eyes.

Hearing an approaching duo of footsteps towards his living space, Bane tucked the photograph away. He looked up to see Lucan, still sweating slightly from the combination of African heat and sparring. The guard retook his place at the entrance while Lucan entered his commander's tent and bowed his head in greeting.

"I saw you fighting just now." Bane engaged getting straight the point, as the soft hiss of his mask filled the damp air of the tent.

"Yes, sir. I was." His answer was flat, emotionless but respectful.

"I realize what day it is, Lucan. I saw the fury in your eyes as you fought." Bane stood and approached the young man slowly, clasping his shoulder firmly. "You are not becoming too emotionally compromised by our approaching assignment, are you? I know your vengeance is close but you must temper your emotions, especially your anger or it will destroy you and endanger our brothers. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand perfectly. I am aware of my rage, sir but I swear to you, I am in control for this assignment." Meeting his leader's eyes, Lucan couldn't contain the thread of growing eagerness in his voice. "But I cannot deny that my anticipation is growing. I feel so close to not only contribute to Gotham's well deserved judgement but to finally avenge my sister's murder. If this assignment takes my life in the end, I will gladly die to be sure our goal is achieved."

"I promise you Brother, that following Gotham's Reckoning, I will allow and assist you in your search for your sister's murderer, even if your life is taken before he's found I shall continue the search. He will be under your mercy and then brother, when he truly realises the depth of his mistake…"

Bane gripped his young lieutenant's shoulder tight before bending down to look him right in the eye.

"Then, he will have your permission to die"

* * *

**Same day, Tashkent International Clinic, Tashkent, Uzbekistan**

'_White, white, white. Why does every room in this place have to be bloody white?!' _she thought, studying her hospital room.

She had long since exhausted the magazines that occupied her room, being totally unintelligible to her due to them being in Uzbek… or Russian. Not that she could tell, of course. Her handler could have least brought one of her books to her room to read at least, but no he got pulled to do some conference shit back at CIA headquarters while they left her to be minded by a egotistical arsehole.

'_I'll be gone for two months, I won't be there for your extraction to our new residence but I will see you there' _that's what her full time guard Agent Robertson, had told her in his usual cold, indifferent tone.

Now she had a new agent for a handler, though while temporary was a lecherous twat. That, coupled with her boredom, only exacerbated her mood. She would actually have the doctors do a check up on her again, then at least something was going on, but they had already examined her half an hour ago, to see how she'd recovered from her surgery.

A surgery that was only one in the long line she'd had since she awoke in Gotham General, nearly four years today. Her monster's torture of her body had left her with severe scar tissue both internal and external. After the agency had taken rather humiliating photographs of her injuries to be used for evidence in future, she had steeled herself enduring the scrutiny of her suffering and let them proceed without fuss. Her body and mind then underwent a recovery process that was to supposedly end with this last surgery on the ligaments in her arms and legs, to regain the freedom of movement she'd had, prior to capture.

Despite the numerous surgeries, it was receiving psychiatric care for her trauma that was the most difficult to go through. To open up to everything that had fallen upon her and others in the space of four years. How could she do that… open up one of the deepest parts of herself and share something that no psychiatric doctor with all their training could ever understand. Although it took months for her to trust her accompanying traveller psychiatrist, she eventually told her of his experiences little by little, until two months ago, her shrink was called away when she'd almost finished her therapy. Thankfully her CIA doctor; Dr Chloe Rosen wasn't a complete heartless bitch or at least she didn't appear to be and seemed to have gone out of her way in the early days of her therapy to help her get better mentally.

She had to admit that Dr Rosen's therapy had helped, especially with her survivor's guilt which had plagued her horribly for the first two years. Dr Rosen also argued her case for her to receive scar removal treatment to erase or at best reduce the lasting impact on her skin. The results were amazing, though if one looked hard enough they could see their faint outlines but it was good enough for Rhian. Some philosophical people would say _'why bother getting rid of them?'_, that '_they're not going to erase what happened.' _

Rhiannon knew this was true but to be honest her memories were enough, she didn't need the physical evidence throughout her life. There was only one thing however she had failed to get rid of… the tattoo on the inside of her right forearm. She always felt it, like the dulled phantom stinging of a brand.

He had done that.

Howard Atwell had tattooed not only her but the many other girls that had come and gone over the years. It was a brand, simply a brand without the fanfare of a superheated poker burning with vivid red and small licks of flame. A claim of ownership meant to be nothing more than a tool to demean them. Though even now, looking back she was surprised to realise that he never actually used the type of brands they used on cattle… and on slaves in the past. Strange considering all the other messed up shite he was into.

Yet despite its clear intention, it remained on her arm because she still hadn't decided in four years whether she wanted rid of it or to keep it. To remember, that she was not alone in her torment. That countless other women had been put through the same as her and died. While she survived, enduring longer than any other. She supposed in the end, the only reason she kept it was for the remembrance of those that didn't make it out… and those who were still living under his tyranny, even now.

It made her sick to her stomach that it was still going on and nothing had been done. She had been told that they had saved her to testify, to give evidence against him. She admitted that she was frightened of the prospect but realised that she'd have to get over it if any justice was to be done in the name of all those women.

But in the four years _nothing_ had happened. No charges had been made against him. Of course, some of the CIA_ were_ on Atwell's payroll, so they obviously had to tiptoe around their own agency to make sure that the case could be put together without him knowing and through that discover that she was alive and well.

She could barely contain the shudder, racking her body at the prospect of being in his proximity again. She hoped that this new agent or even her old one weren't on his payroll; she'd honestly had enough of corrupt CIA agents dragging her back to hell.

She knew that her experience had changed her forever, she may regain some her old character back but she would never be the whole person she was before. She knew deep down she had the potential to be stronger than she ever had been before but she couldn't find the inner strength to find it. She'd often thought that maybe this strength would find her rather than her actively trying to discover it. She just needed the right circumstances for it to arise.

Reminiscing as she lay against the starch white sheets of her hospital bed, on the many changes in her behaviour caused from her imprisonment, she remembered for example, that within the first few months of freedom she had been the most short-tempered bitch. Constantly snapping at people in response to anything that sounded like a criticism, a challenge or condescension, a go-to reaction from conversing with Atwell and his goons. Although she was always quick to see her mistake and apologised immediately afterward. She had never been like that before. Would never even think of losing her temper, of being rude and hurtful to others but would instead keep it bottled up and wait for her anger to dissipate. However during her captivity, this unleashed temper had been her survival strategy, and it had worked quite well for her. Thankfully that irritability had disappeared in time and she had regained her ability to keep such thoughts and feelings bottled up with the same proficiency as before.

Along with uncontrollable rage there was her paranoia of being alone in the dark and of course being in the presence of men only. These terrors had gradually slipped away with psychological treatment which was absolutely needed as her chosen guard was male and spending four years in the company of men, who had done nothing but torture you, could well and truly put you off the opposite sex for life. She was still uncomfortable of course, about both the prospect and act of being alone in a man's company but she could endure it now, instead of her instant reaction of holing up in a cupboard for hours or attacking them with brutal and animalistic savagery.

She somewhat tolerated Agent Robertson. He was civil to an extent but a strangely possessive man, for the circumstances. She never told anyone about this for several reasons, a few of which was that she knew absolutely that Robertson wasn't one of Atwell's pawns, another was that he did provide for her needs as she was barely allowed out and he did protect her very well. So she abided his… _rough_ outbursts and his bizarre intense staring, when he thought she wasn't paying attention, she'd survived much worse anyway.

The only thing that had persisted however, were her nightmares.

Her horrifying, realistic nightmares that wrenched her awake, screaming the roof down.

Unfortunately, these nightmares didn't go away with time but only started to become more frequent and vivid until she was prescribed drugs to finally let her sleep in peace.

Her trance was broken when she heard the door of her room squeak open, revealing her doctor and her new arsehole of a guard, wearing that same smug looking leer on his face that seemed to be tattooed there. Rhiannon opted to abandon her thoughts to listen for at least an ounce of entertainment.

"Well young Miss, we're pleased to report that you're healing beautifully and we've already established a course of physical therapy to get your limbs strong again." The doctor's voice bore a heavy accent but spoke with perfect comprehensible English as he started listing off her therapy plan before excusing himself to see to his other patients, leaving her alone with the twat. Who was again smirking at her.

"How you feeling Rhian?"

"Fine" she lied coldly, before conceding a little truth. "A little stiff though."

"Good. I've been told to inform you that there's a possibility that you won't be alone when we extract you in a few weeks time."

"Oh?" her curiosity officially piqued. She'd always been surrounded with top notch security whenever she was to be extracted from one country to another; there was never anyone else there.

"May I ask who or is it too top secret that if you told me you'd have to kill me?" she asked, rolling her eyes, her sarcasm transparent.

"You don't need to worry your pretty little head about it. But the man we may be extracting is a nuclear physicist. We going to give him an offer, it's up to him if he takes it or not." He answered the condescension clear. She detested that tone; it closely resembled someone else she knew. Someone she'd very much like to forget. Ignoring it for the time being, she continued.

"May I know his name, at least?" she ventured.

"Dr. Leonid Pavel" he replied.

* * *

"_Only people who are capable of loving can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them." _– **Leo Tolstoy**

"_Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place." _– **Sarah Dessen,** _The Truth About Forever_


	3. Chapter 3: Abort!

**Great big Thank you to those you reviewed, favourite and followed. You make me very happy =D =D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing DC related and a thank you to the The Dark Knight Rises novelization which gave me the official name of the agent and the name of the planes =D**

* * *

"_I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens." _– **Woody Allen**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Abort!**

**15****th**** March 2011, around Midday, Over 300 miles north-east from Tashkent, Uzbekistan. **

Natural beauty in the eyes of humanity all depends on the perception of an individual. Some may find it within the appearance of others or if they desired to look deeper; to find it inside another's soul. Then there are those who discover it in material items, such as money and other symbols that blatantly display wealth and status. Yet there are those who find no greater joy, pleasure and inspiration than from the natural beauty of their planet.

From the shifting deserts of sand and water to rugged, towering mountains holding up the very sky. The oceans of deciduous forests and tropical jungles that covered thousands of square miles with only the occasional river snaking its way towards a sea or lake.

Rhiannon had thought for the longest time that she was one of the latter. But driving for six hours through nothing but long, dry grass without a tree or any interesting natural feature was really pushing her love of nature. This uninspiring landscape coupled with her co-passengers refusal to strike up any conversation was not only exacerbating her boredom, but putting her into a foul disposition. Not that it showed of course, her face was composed into what could be called her 'trademark' indifferent mask. This had been going on for at least five hours since they'd first set off from the safe house in Tashkent in the wee hours of the morning but not before her temporary handler had made it clear to her that she wasn't to engage anyone with her _'meaningless babble'_ and since then her boredom had gradually grown with every mile. She could say with all certainty now that she was well and truly bored to tears as she felt moisture gather above the rim of her lashes.

Feeling her tedium approach breaking point, she risked a study of her fellow passengers consisting of a CIA agent and five armed guards, part of the CIA's Special Activities Division. The agent to her best guess looked arrogantly confident.

'_No surprise there_,' she thought, moving her gaze to the guards. All five, including the one driving were well armed; wearing issued combat attire though clearly well worn, it perfectly matched the men's haggard expressions. Before her musing could go any further she caught a flicker of movement coming from the front. Quickly snapping her head away to look at the monotonous surroundings, the agent turned in her direction. Rhiannon ignored the pointed look he gave her before turning away.

Normally, she couldn't care less if people talked to her or not, she was always more comfortable in her own company than in conversation with strangers. A rather juvenile life policy, but events in the past seven and a half years made her far more wary and pathologically shy towards people than she ever had been beforehand. Therefore her ability to completely immerse herself in her own world for hours on end was a blessing. It stopped her from dwelling too long on recent history, as well as the present and most worryingly the future. Unfortunately, the constant rocking of the battered jeep over the uneven terrain was jolting her out of her concentration.

She knew the armed escort wouldn't dare speak to her with a CIA agent present, especially since he had given her the 'meaningless babble' lecture right in front of them and at a loud volume before turning on them and ordering them not to engage with her in turn otherwise their careers would become very difficult for them. With this in mind, Rhiannon tried again to disappear within her thoughts, in an attempt to give herself some peace from her irritation with her handler and her own boredom. Drifting off she thought of the other individual that would be sharing her flight.

A nuclear physicist named Dr. Leonid Pavel.

From what she'd been told, little as it was, the doctor specialised in weaponized fusion reactions. Ironically that very research was endangering his life from various parties coveting his knowledge. Obviously Pavel falling into the hands of a terrorist faction with a vendetta against the world would be bad news for nearly anyone, especially since she'd learned that his research proved that fusion reactors could be turned into neutron bombs.

'_Whatever the hell that means, I know it's bad, but seriously how many fusion reactors can there be in the world?' _then adding as an afterthought_, 'evidently enough for NATO to panic and offer Pavel protection'_

Rhiannon came down to Earth as she felt the car begin to slow. Through the dirt smeared passenger window, she glimpsed an airstrip ahead; already occupied by a turbojet passenger aircraft. It looked old with its faded blue grey paint but she doubted they would risk classified passengers in a faulty plane.

'Hopefully they checked it over before giving the all clear' she thought optimistically as she spotted the large warehouses behind the airstrip, where she expected they stored the planes as she felt the car stop and all but her exited the vehicle, so the soldiers could scope and secure the area.

It was now approaching midday and Rhiannon was beginning to feel the heat, intensified by the sealed car windows and her layers of warm clothing as they neared their destination. She had dressed warmly despite it being early spring but there was still a palpable chill in the air and had even lightly snowed a few days earlier, ironically today was turning out to be an unexpected warm one.

So by the time she finally stepped out of the vehicle, she relished the sensation of cool, fresh and surprisingly delicious air caressing her face and filling her lungs relieving them from the stifling, stale car air. It made Rhiannon want to fall to her knees and kiss the ground in relief. But alas, the moment her feet touched the earth her keeper was on her instantly. Grabbing her upper arms from behind in a near bruising grip, he marched her to the plane while one soldier carried her bag behind them.

Rhiannon tried walking more quickly than the irritating man behind her to preserve some dignity as he callously pushed her up the ramp. But he was having none of it. Firmly spinning her round and pushing her into the window seat on the front row of the plane.

"Nice view for you' he sneered, speaking to her like a child, mocking her further by placing both hands on his knees to crouch to just above her level. "Now remember you're not to talk to or even make eye contact with Dr. Pavel. If he speaks to you, you ignore him, capisce?"

A cold glare was his only response, seeping through her disinterested front. Realising that it was the only answer he was going to get, he turned away and strode out of the plane to wait for the doctor.

Rhiannon couldn't withhold the disgust as she looked at him. What gave him the right or authority to treat her like a stupid child? She watched in distaste as he swaggered outside before she heard heavy footsteps coming towards from the rear of the plane. She jerked her head to look towards an approaching soldier, carrying an unusual black rucksack towards her. Hiding behind her mask once again, she watched as he squatted down.

"It's a parachute," he explained handing her the pack. "The red pin is your back-up chute; the blue's your primary. It has a GPS tracker so if anything goes wrong you'll be found. When you approach the ground you have to absorb the impact, so before your feet touch the ground remember to bend your knees slightly and tuck your chin in." He stopped for breath, taking in her stunned expression. Thinking she may have missed what he had said in her daze, he asked. "Got that? Repeat it back to me?"

Dumbstruck by this crash course in parachuting and landing Rhiannon managed to follow his words, loosely holding the pack on her lap.

"Blue for main. Red for back-up. GPS, so I can be found. To land, bend knees before touching the ground and keep my chin tucked." She answered robotically. Nodding his approval, the soldier carried on with his instruction, by pointing at the open plane door.

"Opening that door is quite simple. Take the lever and pull it downwards, a full hundred and eighty degrees. It will swing out and when you jump out, dive head first and kick yourself out so that the wing doesn't hit you. I hope you don't have to use this, but you can't be too careful."

Sitting back on his haunches, he observed the young woman, who in turn was regarding him with something near to disbelief threaded with gratitude. Scrutinizing her expression, it occurred to him behind his rough façade, that she hadn't had anyone show her an ounce of kindness in quite a while. He couldn't help but feel for her in her perceived loneliness, but it wasn't his place to offer comfort. Standing up, he turned to head outside.

"Thank you" breathed a soft voice.

Spinning round, he saw the girl look at him with beautiful doe green eyes and a soft sad smile on her face; clearly his short lecture was received with sincerity. The soldier had done many things in his career but he rarely had anyone thank him. He honestly couldn't remember a time in his occupation where someone had thanked him honestly and for such a small gesture in the grand scheme of things. Her unexpected appreciation took him by surprise so much that his own mask slipped, his eyes softened and the muscles in his face relaxed as he offered her a small smile in return, before grabbing the money filled briefcase that was placed by the open door and continuing on his way.

As the soldier left her, Rhiannon quickly stood up, glancing at the back of the plane to determine the location of her bag before sinking back down. In a hypothetical situation that they do crash, she wanted to know where it was so, if she had time she could grab it. Fastening her seatbelt she began to study the parachute on her lap, trying to work out how she would put it on if she needed it. In the midst of her study, she heard a different pair of footsteps making their way up the ramp. Peering up she spotted a skittish and near frantic man.

It appeared that Pavel had arrived.

To her Pavel appeared to be middle-aged with his greying black hair and prominent nose. He didn't seem that much taller than her and had they met in a less hostile circumstances her first impression would have been that he had friendly face. Unfortunately, her appraisal didn't go unnoticed and when he sat down Pavel shifted in his seat to look at her. Remembering the agent's words, Rhiannon subtly turned her gaze outside, observing her keeper speaking with a bearded man. Swiftly losing interest, she moved her gaze onto their vehicle, particularly the three hooded figures.

It was only when she caught sight of the middle one did her struggle to remain indifferent was promptly tossed out of the hypothetical window.

In a manner of seconds she felt her body stiffen, blood roaring in her eardrums as her heart began to thunder against her breast.

To say the man was big was a severe understatement, even from her distance she knew he towered over everyone present. His form fitting black shirt did nothing to hide his musculature either. He was monstrous in size. How the hell those men managed to capture him, let alone keep him bound was incomprehensible to her. She doubted that even the soldiers and prisoners guards had enough firepower to intimidate him. She watched as the soldiers made their way towards the hooded captives and guided them to the aircraft.

'_Oh, hell no! Don't tell me, that idiot is bringing them aboard too! Doesn't he see that it's a bad idea? Can't he see how huge that man is?' _Rhiannon tried to calm her panicked thoughts as she watched them approach.

The large man's footsteps on the ramp seemed to thunder with every step, sending the tremors of his movement through the plane and up into her body, giving her no misconceptions to his power. Nervous, she pulled her hood up on her black duffel coat and tugged up her red turtle neck collar and woollen scarf to hide all but her eyes. Clutching the parachute close, she gazed at the giant entering the plane. Fully seeing him up close, she could see that her earlier description didn't do him justice. Height was one thing but added with exceptionally broad shoulders padded with imposing muscle; the man was a walking mountain. If she herself stood up, the top of her head would barely even reach the centre of his chest, it was a wonder that he even fit on the plane and with that thought she wouldn't be surprised if the plane had trouble taking off too.

Feeling her own body desperately try to fuse itself with her seat, in an attempt to disappear, Rhiannon felt a cold and sickening feeling spread from her stomach, throughout her spine and into her limbs making her so unbearably tense, she almost felt like an inanimate object; devoid of a pulse and breath and therefore of life.

It had been a long time since she'd felt this fear and she didn't welcome its return at all. But now that it had unexpectedly arrived, she found herself becoming frustrated, as she knew she couldn't release her fear as she had usually done in the past. Going berserk and attacking everyone of the opposite gender in sight would be the least helpful thing she could do in this moment. Watching the soldiers lock the plane doors and position the prisoners, whereas her handler entered the cockpit. Rhiannon took in large breaths of the circulated air as she closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to calm down.

'_Don't panic. You're not down there with __**him **__anymore. You're on a plane heading to Svalbard. You are __**not **__in Gotham! That git may be a complete moron letting those men onboard but these soldiers know what to do. Calm down now.' _She thought anxiously, she squeezed her eyes tightly and clenched her parachute to her chest.

'_Please God, don't let anything go wrong.'_

* * *

Agent Bill Wilson turned his back on his charge, to parade out of the plane to wait for Dr. Pavel, still feeling the weight of her icy glare. He'd seen gun barrels that looked more welcoming. He knew he infuriated her; could see slivers of emotion barely peeking behind the green curtains of her eyes whenever he spoke to her like that. Part of the reason why he did it; to get a rise out of her, to make her do something other than glare or make subtle, biting remarks that took up too much of his time to figure out. No reaction so far though, as always she continued to remain stoic.

It would hardly matter anyway. Once they dropped off Pavel and reached their destination, it would only be another fortnight before her initial handler would take over, leaving him to pursue his career in the CIA. He knew it would only be a matter of time before an opportunity arose where he could prove himself to the agency, opportunities that did not include babysitting damaged and psychologically disturbed women. Sure, she was very pretty and at first he believed he could loosen her up and get a little '_action' _but the woman was colder and more frigid than a glacier. Probably the only times her mask completely disappeared in favour of utter disgust and outrage, when she finally understood his innuendo's.

'_Frigid bitch'_ he thought, hooking his thumbs into his belt, _'Don't know what's so important about that brat to have her labelled classified.'_

Aware of his increasing tension, he dismissed further thoughts of her. Having gotten the call from the men he hired to pick Pavel up that they would be arriving soon, he stood at the ready and signalled his men to take positions.

Soon Wilson heard the hum of an approaching engine, followed by the sight of a dirty blue jeep ploughing its way through the surrounding cornfields. He could barely make out two figures in front through the film of dirt on the windscreen as the vehicle came to stop on the asphalt. Wilson gripped the case containing the money as he watched a bearded man around his height and age exit the car and escort Pavel towards him. Wilson could easily see that Pavel was on edge, half-expecting the man to jump a mile if someone so much uttered the word _'Boo'_. The thought made him smirk as he addressed Pavel.

"Dr Pavel." The older man nodded, as the agent handed the case to the driver who eagerly snatched it away. "I'm CIA."

"He wasn't alone." announced the driver in a thick accent, gesturing behind him as the hired guards escorted three prisoners out of the back of the jeep. All three had hoods concealing their faces with their hands tied at the back. But although two of the mercenaries were slightly tall with average builds; it was the middle prisoner that caught the agent's attention. He was… big, for lack of a better term. In the agents eyes he looked like a professional wrestler… minus the hood. It was a wonder how three hired men managed to capture him let alone restrain him alongside capturing two others. All in all, it didn't sit right.

"Uh… you don't get to bring friends" teasing Pavel with a slight smile, but the Doctor didn't understand the joke.

"They are _not _my friends!" he hissed in protest as one of the soldiers took his arm and escorted him onto the plane. The driver addressed the agent once more.

"Don't worry. No charge for them" indicating to his prisoners behind him, now lined up in front of the jeep, their guards flanking them.

"And, why would I want them?" answered Wilson, sceptical of the prisoners worth.

"They were trying to nab your prize…"

The agent just responded with a nonchalant shrug. _'So, many terrorist cells coveted Dr Pavel's expertise' _he thought.

"…they work for the mercenary. The masked man." The agent missed the glint of triumph in the bearded man's eyes as he spoke the last two magic words, his earlier wish for an opportunity to rise in rank quickly coming true.

"Bane?" he asked, for clarification.

Nodding, the driver inwardly smirked at how little trickery was needed.

Meanwhile, the agents mind was in overdrive. He knew of Bane, every intelligence agency in the world knew of Bane and his infamous mercenaries. They were recently behind the coup in West Africa two to three months ago and up to date no one had managed to discover reliable information regarding him and the man himself had skilfully evaded all of the Agency's efforts to capture or recruit him. Wilson knew this was too good to pass up. Forget Pavel and most definitely forget the girl, if he could be the first to get reliable Intel on Bane, who knows where it could lead but he most definitely knew that the only direction was up. Fully pumped on his endorphins Wilson turned to his men eagerly.

"Get 'em on board. I'll call it in."

* * *

By the time he finished his call to the Agency they were airborne and about to leave Uzbekistan airspace. Looking out, he saw ragged green mountains and winding silver rivers below as they flew at low altitude to prevent radar detection.

Exiting the cockpit, Agent Wilson saw the prisoners kneeling in a line at the back. Smiling in anticipation, he went over the flight plan; Dr Pavel, himself, his five men and just one of the prisoners. He couldn't contain the smug smirk, proud of his cunning. He had of course left Rhian off the list, since she was classified; only those with access would receive the report and would instantly know that if he was on the plane, Rhian was too.

Speaking of Rhian, Wilson turned to her, smiling in amusement at the sight of her nearly completely covered. She almost looked like a bandit out of the Wild West; she was clearly scared of the new arrivals and that in itself was almost worth bringing them onboard in the first place. Looking to Pavel, who'd seated himself on the opposite side; a row back from Rhian but this didn't seem to deter him from leaning forward to look at her. Smiling at his interest, the agent crouched in front of him, whispering to keep the prisoners unaware of her presence.

"Dr Pavel might want to stop staring at her and put on a seatbelt"

Dr. Pavel appeared to understand the need for secrecy but it didn't quench his curiosity.

"Who is she? Why is she here?" Agent Wilson couldn't resist another tease.

"A little too young for you Doctor but you were duly informed that there was another passenger and you're not to speak to or of them afterwards. Her case is classified." Leaving it at that, the agent strode away. Realising he wasn't going to get more than that, Pavel spared the quiet young woman another glance before scrambling for his seatbelt. He only wished the agent had left those three men far behind, he didn't want to hear anything about the man that nearly captured him for God knows what reasons.

Reaching the back, the Agent addressed his silent quarry, drawing his gun from his holster.

"What are you doing in the middle of my operation!?"

The only answer was silence.

'_Alright then' _he signalled his men to open the rear door.

"The flight plan I just filed with the agency lists me, my men, Dr Pavel here but _only one of you_!" he shouted over bellowing wind. "First one to talk gets to stay on my aircraft!" his nearest man dragged the smaller captive with the grey shirt to the doorway, suspending his head outside. Crouching over him, Wilson put the gun barrel to the man's concealed head.

"Who paid you to grab Dr Pavel!?" Again silence, Bane's men were certainly loyal to him, he'd give them that but he only had an allotted amount of time to do this. Aiming slightly away from the man's head, Wilson pulled the trigger. The sharp report echoed through the cabin, his men subdued the prisoner to stop him alerting his comrades to the faux execution.

"He didn't fly so good. Who wants to try next?" he asked the others, as another man in a baggy black shirt was dragged to replace his fellow captive.

"Tell me about Bane! Why does he wear the mask?!" Wilson demanded as he crouched over his hostage once again. Yet only the howling wind answered him. The stubborn silence was really frustrating the agent as he cocked his weapon.

"A lot of loyalty, for a hired gun!"

"Or perhaps he's wondering why someone would shoot a man, before throwing him out of a plane."

The new voice interrupted the agent's unorthodox interrogation. It was muffled and somewhat mechanical to those within earshot. Looking behind him, Wilson saw it came from the largest prisoner who was still kneeling by the last row. Two soldiers hauled the prisoner back in and closed the rear door stopping the buffeting wind from distorting any exchange. Wilson advanced on the third man.

"At least you can talk. Who are you?" At least he would get some information, carefully examining the man's size and noting that his head was raised proudly despite being a prisoner.

"It doesn't matter who we are, what matters is our plan." The voice was unusually melodic but it did nothing to disguise the power and complete assurance of the bound man's voice. Curiosity sparking within the agent, he knelt down and carefully peeled the hood away.

What greeted him was a frightening visage, immediately recognizable from spy cameras, a face which still inspiring nightmares in bloodier parts of the world.

"No one cared who I was until I put on the mask." continued Bane, his voice amplified without the hood, booming through the cabin.

Agent Wilson was immediately intrigued with the said contraption on the man's face. There was a lot of speculation round the agency on what it was for. No one could determine without taking a closer look and that had been difficult as all images of the man had been taken at a distance. Now the man was in front of him and Wilson wasn't going to miss the chance to study it.

The mouthpiece covered lower jaw and nose completely with three dark grey, rubber straps; two wound up either side of his head to the back of his skull, concealing his ears while a vertical strap curved over his bald head to merge with the other two at the base of his cranium. It was the mouthpiece however that caught the agent's attention. Consisting of two rows of metal coils, one on top and one below, painting a disturbing image of a gaping maw of sharp teeth or curled spider's legs, overall giving a disconcerting likeness to a skull. Hearing the air hiss malevolently as the man breathed, Wilson deduced that they were breathing tubes, but it didn't explain the odd chemical aroma surrounding the man. Looking more carefully at the straps he saw small pipes leading to his mouthpiece from the back of his head and further inspection revealed small canisters situated there.

'_So, not just for show' _he thought gleefully,_ 'looks like he actually needs it.' _Looking back up into the Bane's piercing eyes; Wilson noted with discomfort that Bane was completely calm and exuded assertion in droves, without a smidgen of fear in his steel grey eyes.

"If I pull that off, will you die?"

"It would be extremely painful" Bane answered

Surprised with how easily he answered the agent again glanced at Bane's bulk.

"You're a big guy." He observed.

"For you" Bane clarified.

Wilson couldn't control the chill that crept its way up his spine but ignored it to remain in control of the interrogation.

"Was getting caught part of your plan?"

"Of course" said Bane slightly affronted, furrowing his brow as if insulted by the agent's scepticism in his intelligence.

"Dr Pavel refused our offer, in favour of yours. We had to find out what he told you about us." Bane explained, still frowning at the operative.

"Nothing!" Pavel shouted in panic, now on the edge of his seat. "I said nothing!"

Bane turned his head towards Pavel, narrowing his eyes into a cold glare making Pavel sink back out of sight.

"Why not just ask him?" Wilson asked, completely ignoring the scientist's fear. Bane's attention switched back to the cocky agent.

"He wouldn't have told us."

"You have methods." Wilson pointed out.

"Him, I need healthy, you present no such problems." Bane clarified.

His answer made the chill Wilson felt earlier become more palpable as Bane's confidence slowly made him lose faith in his own. He was distracted from his next question when a deep, rumbling tone vibrated through the plane, it sounded an awful lot like thunder but there were clear skies for miles around… so what was making that noise?

Above a white C130 Hercules approached the smaller turbojet aircraft from behind. Its hull betrayed no loyalties as it flew closer. Its ramp opened beneath it and four men in black, armed and ready jumped out, hanging from cables.

Back in the smaller aircraft, the rumbling was now so loud that its turbulence violently shook the plane. Having remained silent and obedient during the interrogation, a sergeant approached the window with growing concern as he tried to look for the source.

"Sir?"

Wilson ignored him, still insisting on finishing the interview, the opportunity was still too good to ignore.

"Well, congratulations! You got yourself caught!" Wilson mocked as his sergeant spoke up again.

"Sir!" As he spotted the edge of a larger aircraft above them, still he was ignored.

"Now what's the next step of your master plan?" Wilson taunted sarcastically.

"Crashing this plane." Bane answered, dark grey eyes eager for violence as he slowly rose to his feet, his massive size filling the already small cabin as his expression turned dark with focussed intent. "With no survivors!" and snapped his binds apart.

The operative could barely react as Bane launched himself at him; a wall of unstoppable muscle igniting the plane cabin into chaos as the four men outside started firing through the window. Windows shattered, glass exploded unleashing biting cold air inside as bullets sped through, killing two soldiers trying desperately to locate and fend them off. While the two stationed at the rear tried to restrain the remaining prisoners who were starting to rise as they heard Bane take action.

Meanwhile, Wilson was pathetically fending off Bane. All of his training was futile against Bane's sheer strength and superior instruction. Agent Wilson batted Bane's hands off him but he moved too slowly as Bane's massive fist smashed into his throat. His eyes widened and teared as he felt his windpipe snap and his immediate lack of air burn his lungs. Staggering backwards, his hands clawed at his throat as his heart raced in rising panic, pumping adrenalin through his body as his lungs strained to inhale air. Looking up to see Bane staring at him with unreserved satisfaction as his own eyesight blurred with tears as darkness edged closer around the corners of his vision.

* * *

Outside each side of the plane, men attached strong steel grapples to the plane's body near the tail, each connected to thick cables fastened to the larger aircraft above. One signalled the crew onboard to activate the powerful hoists. The winches on the plane wailed and screamed as they pulled the smaller jet upward.

The cabin immediately tilted at a near ninety degree angle, throwing any debris including soldiers and a suffocating CIA agent towards the cockpit. Only Bane and his two mercenaries held on to the row of seats. Dr Pavel, still firmly strapped into his seat thwarting his fall, shouted in terror. Things were happening too fast for the poor scientist to fully process, there was no time to think rationally for an escape from the oncoming mercenaries. The plane began to shriek as if in agony as it absorbed the destructive vibrations travelling through its body but after a resounding crash and the sound of protesting metal being torn and ripped away the tremors ceased. In response the plane abruptly lurched as the resistance holding it back broke away. Pavel looked out the window to see one of the wings had been ripped off.

* * *

Above, Bane hung onto the last row, a guttural growl emanating from his mask. Though the mission was far from over, he was pleased at how easy it was to dispose of the opposition. Bane turned toward the frantic scientist, who was currently using his arms to push on the seat in front to stop himself from falling. Holding on with one hand, Bane angled his body into the middle of the aisle before dropping. His body weight made him fall fast but his teaching, taught him expert agility, as his arms shot out to catch himself in an impressive controlled descent towards his quarry.

Outside, two men moved toward the tail. Attaching explosives in decisive locations, they left no room for error. Kicking out, they swung on their tethers as the crew above sent a large black bag down a cable. One individual caught the package and steadied it as the explosives detonated with exact precision, with near deafening noise as the tail of the plane was blown off and the remains fell towards the green hills below. The main obstacle gone they climbed towards the newly made entrance.

The freezing air howled into the cabin carrying a bitter chemical aroma of plastic explosive. A remaining soldier scrabbled for his firearm atop the bodies of his comrades as he looked past the gigantic man to see more of Bane's lackey's climbing in from above. Grabbing hold of his handgun, he aimed at the mercenaries, especially Bane. That man killed his friends; their families would never see them again, all because their superior had been too ambitious to see the danger, now they were all going to die. His dark eyes narrowed as he fired rapidly at Bane hovering on the seats above him, grinning underneath his grotesque mask.

Bane looked at the remaining soldier lying on the bodies below and smiled triumphantly, knowing his brothers would finish him off. He watched the soldier finally get his gun and aim it at him. Acting quickly he climbed into the second row, balancing on them as he shielded himself from the soldiers wildly fired bullets. Hearing answering gunfire from his men as they descended with semi-automatic weapons, they're responding bullets struck the man's chest, his body shuddered on impact. The soldier died far from home, as dark red patches spread across his chest.

Ignoring the corpse pile below, Bane kept his eyes on Pavel as four of his men garbed in black entered with the 'special cargo'; a body bag. The two men who had posed as captives were released, tearing their hoods off. Satisfied with his men, Bane kept his burning gaze on Dr Pavel who was still shouting in his seat. Narrowing his eyes, Bane huffed making a low hiss as he acknowledged that one of his men would have to stay behind to have the correct body count. It wouldn't have been necessary had Dr Pavel accepted their offer in the first place but an alternative plan had been put in place. He only preferred to not sacrifice a loyal brother, when he would have been far more useful in the final plan, they needed all the faithful soldiers they could get from their ranks.

Bane felt his men place the body on the row above him, unzipping it to reveal a corpse bearing a rough resemblance to the frightened doctor. Pushing himself forward, Bane balanced each foot on either side of the aisle and grabbed Pavels flailing arm, pulling it up to his chest. The Doctor renewed his shouts and screams of protest but Bane only heard white noise. There was a mission to complete and nothing would interfere. Grabbing a needle attached to a long plastic tube, Bane swiftly pulled up the Doctor's sleeve to insert it into a rapidly pulsing vein in the crook of his elbow.

One man performed rapid compressions to pull the blood out of Pavel and into the body. Bane clinically watched as Pavel's blood flowed into the tube. Keeping a firm hold on the doctor, he held the tube up higher preventing any blockages; he needed near a pint of the doctor's blood if his supposed death was to be believed.

The transfusion was almost finished and Bane was ready to take out the needle and fasten Pavel into a harness when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking down at the first row, he glared at the seats. He could have sworn something moved… something too large to be a bag.

Snapping back to the present, he realised they'd taken more than enough blood. Removing the needle from the doctor's arm, he took out the harness from the body bag and hastily placed it around the still screaming doctor. He was broken out of his concentration when his men started making a racket.

"STOP!"

"Who's that?!"

"Someone get down there! "

Bane stared bewildered spiced with growing fury, when he saw someone alive… and opening the front hatch. Going over the now deceased operative's flight plan everyone was accounted for, including the two pilots that were no doubt still alive in the cockpit, so who was this?

'_No matter'_ Bane thought as he eyed the back of the stranger who was completely covered in a thick coat with the hood up, making identification impossible. What he could see was a small, slightly slender man, soon to be a very dead and forgotten man. Bane didn't like to be surprised, especially in the midst of a straightforward mission; this insignificant passenger's presence was nothing but a nuisance. But a nuisance that would be the proverbial wrench, in a well oiled plan. All this sped through his mind in less than a few seconds before he coldly gave his order.

"Kill him."

The cabin erupted into gunfire but the ammunition arrived too late to complete their intended objective as they pummelled into the still warm, dead bodies. The small man had moved fast, pushing open the hatch and dive out into the atmosphere.

Bane's mask hissed, barely controlling his ire as he dropped down followed by the grey shirted mercenary. Bane ignored the snaps and cracks of bones from under his weight as he landed on the cadavers. Stepping forward he tightly gripped the hatch frame, ignoring the groan under his furious grasp as he crouched to watch the figure's descent, half-aware of his brother next to him. He hoped the chute would fail for the pitiable man's sake. Not only would it save time from hunting the man down but truthfully crashing into the earth and killed on impact was a far kinder fate than what Bane was starting to prepare when he got his hands on that waste of flesh. It would make things exceedingly difficult if that man told the CIA exactly what happened. The world needed to believe Pavel was dead.

Bane watched the body fall with increasing speed, plummeting towards a flat river plain within a green valley. He waited for a chute to be deployed as the figure spun round and round with their limbs flailing in all directions as if trying to grab the air. Bane rose believing the figure was going to become well acquainted with ground soon, but stopped when he saw a chute appear.

Body hardening in fury, Bane knew the vermin was going to survive the fall and more unnecessary work will have to go into finding the wretch. More unnecessary time wasted when it could have been put to better use towards preparing for Gotham. Rising to his full height Bane stalked back to the aisle, ignoring the crunching of bones beneath his boots and climbed back up the seats, closely followed by his brother.

The other faux prisoner that had performed compressions on the Pavel lookalike had fastened himself to a tether before being pulled out, followed by other three. Bane called out to the fourth.

"Brother, tell the men on board that they are to note down the co-ordinates of that parachute. Then send word to the rest of the army at our base that I want a group of men experienced in tracking ready to go hunting. We are not quite done here as we had initially planned." He ordered, concealing his rage beneath a composed veneer but his soldier knew from years of experience that he was furious. Nodding in obedience, he handed a knife to Bane before being hauled out.

The grey shirted mercenary grabbed the extra harness but paused when he felt his commander's hand lie softly on his shoulder.

"No! They expect one of us in the wreckage, brother" Bane told him gently. The man nodded, unhooking himself from the cable, to then clasp his leader's forearm as he looked at him with the bright eyes of a fervent believer.

"Have we started the fire?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, the fire rises" Bane answered with equal zeal, squeezing his arm in turn. Bane turned back to the doctor and cut the seatbelt connecting him to the plane. The restraint gone, the scientist fell forward only to be caught by his harness and fell into the waiting arms of Bane. Towing him up to his level, Bane gripped the cable on Pavel's harness keeping him steady as he took out a hand-held detonator, looking the petrified doctor in the eye.

"Calm down doctor! Now's not the time for fear." Bane said conversationally as he closed a brawny arm around the doctor for a firmer grip. "That comes later."

Pressing the firing button, the grapples holding the plane in midair released and the plane immediately fell away, taking the martyred mercenary with it as the cable continued to haul Bane and the doctor to plane above.

Keeping his grip on Pavel, Bane was pleased to see that the doctor was trying to calm his hysterics. Somewhat soothing his current foul mood as he couldn't tolerate the scientists cries anymore. On their journey, Bane looked to where the parachute had certainly landed. His grip on the doctor unintentionally tightened as his stormy grey eyes became cold as ice. He glared at the direction of the unfortunate wretch that unintentionally interfered.

He was going to enjoy pulling him apart.

* * *

The hollering wind as she fell practically deafened her. She couldn't see straight, everything was spinning; her stomach was churning. Through all that, it never occurred to her to pull the pin and deploy the chute. She expected later on that what she had just experienced for the past hour had thrown her into shock. She hadn't seen a dead body in four years and seeing many bodies drop in front of her was never going to beneficial for her recovering psyche. Probably explaining why through the majority of her drop all thoughts running through her head, as she spun out of control was this.

'_Land, sky, plane, sky, land, sky, plane, land, sky, land, sky, plane, sky. Land. Getting closer. Shit!'_

Finally knocking herself out of her stupor, she suppressed her panic hysterically searching for and pulling the blue pin, releasing her parachute. Grunting heavily in slight pain as her body was yanked up causing her internal organs to try and migrate to her legs.

Her rapid descent halted Rhiannon took the time to calm down as she watched the large plane drag the smaller aircraft along. Looking closer she could have sworn she could see two figures crouching in the hatchway she had dived out of.

Now gliding gently towards the ground, she felt tremendous guilt bearing down on her chest as she remembered the soldiers, the pilots, even the idiot CIA operative. He may have infuriated her and made inappropriate suggestions but it didn't mean she wished him dead. She didn't wish any of them dead but there was literally nothing she could do unless she had been superman… or woman.

Seriously though, how was an unarmed woman going to save them from seven men; four of them armed and one so exceedingly huge she felt like an imp in his presence? She felt further guilt, when she acknowledged she had purposely left Pavel behind but dismissed it quickly.

_He_ was the reason the mercenaries were there. Bane had confirmed this himself, revealing that he needed him healthy so there was a very good chance Pavel would live. However there would be no such chance for her, the mercenaries need a complete body count hence the cadaver, she had spotted.

Pausing the train of guilt she saw the ground approaching fast and quickly mobilised the kind but now deceased soldier's advice and landed as carefully as she could… but ended up humorously crashing into a thorn bush to her immense displeasure. Stumbling and writhing out of the twisted branches, Rhiannon tried to free her curly tresses from the tangled thorns while successfully pricking and prodding her exposed skin on the concealed ones.

Until she finally wrestled herself free and stood albeit shakily, tilting her head back to gaze at the now very small plane, travelling away from her.

Quickly removing the harness from her drained and weary body, she freed her captured red woollen hat from the bush considering her actions of the past hour.

After Wilson had emerged from the cockpit, she'd sunk lower and lower in her seat, pulling her legs up to rest her feet on the edge. She had listened to her idiot handler's interrogation. Which she could still hear despite the wind from the open door, as he tried to find out more about a masked man called Bane (whom she had never heard of until then). She remembered the overwhelming horror when it was revealed that the gigantic man was Bane himself. Even now she couldn't suppress the violent shudder as she recalled his words _'Crashing this plane, with no survivors!' _His voice had been a deep mechanical timbre… and had gone right through the time she hadn't dared look back to see what he looked like despite that beneath her terror there was her burgeoning (and near fatal, in this case) curiosity wanting to match the voice with the body it belonged to.

'_If he was interrogating them about Bane in the first place, that idiot Wilson __**must**__ have thought that the large prisoner was suspicious. He should have used his common sense!'_ she had thought when Bane had revealed himself.

She'd curled into a small ball as the tense atmosphere erupted into anarchy as men outside fired through the windows, luckily missing her as they aimed for the soldiers. She had held onto her seat for dear life when the plane tilted and she had let her parachute drop to the wall which had become the floor.

When the plane had fully fallen forward, only then did she dare look up.

It was then that she saw him.

He truly was a frightening man especially with the intriguing mask and his powerful, imposing build. He'd been hanging from the last row and dropped down with surprising dexterity. It was only when the remaining soldier had fired at him and Bane had taken refuge behind _her_ seat did she take action. She'd felt the weight of him through the chair as it took the brunt of his mass and it gave her no illusion about the might of the man.

She had carefully undone her seatbelt and gently lowered herself onto the wall-turned-floor. Being cautious so she wasn't seen by the invading mercenaries, while secretly hoping Pavel wouldn't mention her presence but luckily he'd been too busy screaming at the time. She'd carefully strapped on her parachute, whilst sporadically glancing through the space between seats to check they weren't close to discovering her.

She was almost caught at one point by Bane. He had caught her movement and paused to look longer for any sign, while she had waited with baited breath for him to finally turn his attention away.

Crouching down, she tried desperately to ignore the dead faces in front of her, specifically the face of the kind soldier that was now vacantly looking at her in a death stare. She knew that if she let them affect her she'd be just as dead.

Quickly studying the door, she made out a quick path to reach it. She expected the wind pressure would make the hatch difficult to open but she hoped that the force of her body would make it unlock quickly. Once again risking a peek at the mercenaries above, still engaged in the weirdest blood transfusion ever seen. She realised it was now or never as she saw Bane take the needle out of the doctor's arm. Then she'd bolted, thankfully she didn't stumble and her hood didn't fall down, unfortunately her assumption that the door would be tricky had been correct. It had taken a few seconds longer but she had made it in time and dived out, right before the bullets made impact, after Bane's order to _'Kill him.'_

Back in the present, Rhiannon tried to stop her golden-brown curls blowing across her face in strong and unexpectedly warm wind but she still managed to distinguish the small plane through her wild locks, as it fell toward the ground as the larger plane flew further away.

She could just barely make out a figure on the end of a cable being carried along but she was so far way, she couldn't be sure. Turning away from the travelling crime scene she took in her surroundings.

Appraising the ragged mountains and the curving silver rivers within emerald valleys, Rhiannon couldn't help but release a humourless laugh as she remembered her earlier wish that morning for more engaging surroundings. It appeared her wish came at a horrible price.

'_Undoubtedly a no better situation to be coined with the phrase __**'Be careful what you wish for'**__'_ she thought humourlessly as she swayed and stumbled toward a nearby brook.

Falling to her knees by the bank, Rhian removed her gloves and scarf before thrusting her hands into the icy stream. She splashed her face vigorously, pouring water over the back of her neck before scooping up the liquid in her hands to noisily slurp up the water down her dried gullet. Once finished she leaned back against a nearby rock, spreading out her legs and resting her head on the rock-face.

She didn't know how long she'd lain there for but she supposed it had been no more than half an hour. Raising her head to look around, Rhian was finally relaxed enough to think rationally.

She remembered that Bane's goal had been no survivors meaning without a shadow of a doubt that he would never let her go alive. He would ensure she was dead to have the correct body count and guarantee that she told no one of Dr. Pavel's abduction. Of course, presently he believed her to be a man, unless Pavel tells him otherwise.

'_Doubt that would stop him though'_ she thought bitterly.

She didn't want to die. She knew that for certain.

Not that she was afraid of the process or of the afterlife but because she wanted to fulfil her wish of seeing her family, even if it had to be at a distance or just a five minute phone call. At this point of her life with nearly eight years devoid of any contact with them, Rhiannon was quite prepared to take what was offered. This however didn't solve her dilemma of what to do now. Knowing Bane wouldn't let her go long enough for search and rescue to find her, the only alternative was to run and run far.

She had a parachute with a tracker and the actual parachute itself could be used for cover as it was thankfully a repulsive olive colour. She roughly knew which direction the tail and luggage had crashed. She could retrieve her bag and perhaps get something useful like a map or a compass or even a handheld GPS from the other baggage. She quashed her guilt again when the idea occurred to scavenge their luggage but this was survival and no doubt they would have done the same had they survived too.

Next was the problem of where to go? She was very likely out of Uzbekistan and out of all the heavy conflict areas. She was most likely in Kazakhstan; Russia could also be an option. It was possible that she could make her way to the nearest settlement and then travel from town to town looking for the bigger urban areas where they were more likely to speak English. But if Bane was on the hunt, it would probably be best if she avoid towns as much as possible before finding a big enough settlement where she would most likely find a consulate. Once in contact with them she could perhaps ask them to take her to a British embassy where she could liaise with MI6 and eventually the CIA. Eventually they'd get into contact with her permanent handler Agent Robertson who was actually an MI6 liaison with the Agency. But first she needed a GPS or anything else of the like before she could plan further.

Steadily rising to her feet, she made her way towards the parachute to put it away. She knew she couldn't go back to the crash site, as much as she wanted to. She would lose valuable time by burying what was left of them and it would give Bane a greater chance of catching her. Packing her parachute vigilantly so as not to rip it (as part of it was caught on the thorn bush) and economically so as to not take up much space within the rucksack it'd come in.

After making sure she had everything she needed, she threw the bag over one shoulder and tossed a glance towards the plane carrying Bane and his mercenaries. It had now all but disappeared except for a small dark dot in the distance before turning on her heel to stride off in the opposite direction, the warm wind licking her hair back out of her face to trail behind a rough estimate of where the tail had crashed.

In the past, she was never good at being organised. At being the person with a plan. All she had was a basic outline and a goal to achieve.

Except she had to succeed at this, because the alternative was not something she could accept. She had to somehow outrun trained mercenaries and Bane long enough to reach help.

She could do this. She had to. There wasn't any other acceptable choice but to elude a harbinger of death.

'_Wouldn't be the first time' _she thought bitterly.

* * *

"_What do we say to the Lord of Death?"_

"_Not Today."_ –

**George R. R. Martin, **_A Game of Thrones_


End file.
